


snwormt

by Splashattack



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack, Gen, The Corruption Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), hoo boy is it crack, not beta'd I wouldn't make my worst enemy proofread this, unconventional drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splashattack/pseuds/Splashattack
Summary: an alternative take on the statement of jane prentiss
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	snwormt

**Author's Note:**

> you guys can blame astrid, gabe, celia, gummy, beau, achilles, and lee for this. shame on all of you 
> 
> cw for drug use? kind of? at the very end and not explicit

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement of Jane Prentiss, regarding an encounter with worms. Original statement given February 23rd, 2014. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.

**ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)**

The subconscious mind is a funny thing. The way it implants ideas into your thoughts, the way it twists and warps and promises and sings: it is an entity of its own, incomparable to anything at all. It’s the truest reflection of one’s character, desires, fears.  
I know that my mind is still my own. I would know if it wasn’t—I question my desires, my motives, my actions, but never my _self_ , not the person I _am_.

Maybe you just don’t think to question what you’ve lost. I don’t know.

Can you lose something you don’t have? I thought I knew who I was. No one says it, but once you reach a certain age, you’re expected to understand yourself—I thought I did. I had friends, and I wore bright necklaces. I baked, and I wrote, and when it was clear I went outside and looked at the stars. I smiled and laughed and loved and _lived_.

I think I was lonely. Not forsaken, not swallowed by the fog—simply lonely. I must have been, because I had decided to adopt a pet for myself. Nothing big—just something I could talk to. I’d never had a pet, you see, and I didn’t want anything too high-maintenance.

I ended up bringing home a fish. I know it had a name, but it eludes me—it doesn’t seem important, not now. I don’t think it ever was. I’m not sure where it ended up—I hope it’s happy, though. I owe a lot to that little fish.

I never appreciated how many different kinds of food they make for fish. It’s not something I ever really considered—one of those things that seems so obvious, but in retrospect, you can’t fathom how you were so wrong. Pellets, flakes, paste—and a canister of mealworms.

The first time I fed the fish, I wasn’t sure what to do. Does one crush the worms? Break them? They certainly weren’t what I’d expected—small, light, fragile, almost husks. And that desire blossomed, _overtook_ me, because in their spun-sugar bodies I saw such beauty, such strength, and I needed it to sing to me, to _be_ me.

anyway I snorted the worms bye archypoo~


End file.
